“You order anything online?”

  “No.”

  Jack hopped off me and I went for one of the many gun safes we had around the house, this one in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. It opened with a biometric fingerprint lock, and I removed my Glock and Jack’s Smith & Wesson revolver. Both took 9mm, which we decided on as a couple because it’s smarter to share the same type of ammo and never get caught in an emergency grabbing the wrong caliber.

  I checked my mag, seeing all fifteen slots filled, and Jack swung out her cylinder, counting seven. I also took my Boker folding knife from the safe and shoved it into my pocket. Just in case.

  Jack took the left side of the doorway, I took the right, bending sideways and glancing through the peephole.

  Door was steel, so I wasn’t worried about getting shot through it.

  I also wasn’t expecting who I saw standing on our front stoop.

  “It’s our neighbor. Larry Wintergarten. He has cookies.”

  Jack blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Tell him we’re not letting anyone in. COVID-19.”

  I spoke loud to be heard through the steel. “Hi, Larry. We’re not seeing visitors. Pandemic.”

  “I see, I see. I made Samantha some chocolate chip cookies. I guessed this might be scary for her, since they closed the schools.”

  “Who’s at the door?” Sam had come out, wearing her Mandalorian bathrobe.

  “It’s just our neighbor, Mr. Wintergarten, baby.”

  “Why are you going to shoot Mr. Wintergarten?”

  Jack and I traded a look, and Jack went to her. “We’re not shooting anyone, Sam. We thought he was a stranger.”

  “Are strangers after you again?”

  Ugh. The things kids pick up on.

  “No, pumpkin. He just came by to say hello.”

  Another knock startled me. Jack also flinched.

  “I can hear someone in there. It’s your neighbor, Larry Wintergarten. I made you some cookies.”

  “Cookies!” Sam squealed, clapping her hands together.

  “I’m sure Dad bought cookies, sweetie.”

  I figured I better tell my girls now instead of later. “Grocery store was out of cookies.”

  “Well, I’m sure we can make some tonight.”

  I felt like a heel. “No flour. No sugar. No chocolate chips.”

  Jack rubbed her eyes.

  “It’s your call,” I told her.

  Until recently, I’d lived a life where violence came knocking once a week. But my past was nothing compared to my wife’s. She held some sort of world record for psycho killer stalkers. In the not-too-distant past, she’d even faked her own death to keep herself and her family safe.

  When it came to letting people in our home, I deferred to Jack.

  “He’s probably just a harmless old man,” Jack said. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s up to you.” I grinned. “You’re the oldest.”

  “You’re a dick,” Jack told me.

  “Is Dad a dick because he’s ten years younger than you?” Sam asked.

  “Dad’s a dick because he wants Mom to make this decision even though marriage is an equal partnership.”

  “Dad lets me play Gunface Death Warrior 3 on GameMaster 2 even though you say I can’t.”

  “Snitches get stiches,” I told my daughter.

  “Munchkin, a video game where you torture informants and murder sex workers isn’t for eight-year-olds. Or for anybody.”

  “It’s just pretend, Mom. Like Santa Claus.”

  “I know it’s pretend,” Jack doubled-down, “but I don’t like it. Why don’t you play Rainbow Bubblegum Gang Vs. Unicorn Bunnies?”

  “Because that game is for babies and it sucks.”

  I actually liked that game.

  Could I be getting soft? I used to mug gang-bangers and rob banks. Now I hung shelves and played Unicorn Bunnies.

  Which reminded me; I needed to check if my bubblegum bomb recharged.

  “I can just leave the cookies here if it’s a bad time,” Larry said.

  I met eyes with Jack, taking her reluctance as a cue to step up. “We really aren’t letting anyone inside, Larry. Thanks for the cookies. Until we learn more about how the virus spreads, we don’t want to break quarantine. I know you understand.”

  “Of course, of course. I’ll just leave them here on your front step.”

  “Thank you. We appreciate it.”

  I peeked through the peephole, and watched him set down the paper plate and turn to leave, take one step away, then turn and come back and knock again, causing Jack to flinch.

  “What is it, Larry?” I asked, letting some frustration show in my voice.

  “I hate to ask this, but I was just at the store, and they were out of toilet paper. Could I borrow a roll or two? I can pay you. Or replace it when it’s back in stock.”

  “Do we have extra?” Jack asked me.

  “Not much. Maybe five rolls.”

  “Let’s give him two.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “I’m suspicious when people come bringing gifts. But he came for a favor. Less suspicious.”

  I considered reminding her that lots of psychopaths understand human nature and get people to let down their guard by asking for favors, but that didn’t seem to be a discussion to have in front of Sam.

  “Sure, Larry,” I told him. “We’ll drop some off at your house later.”

  I watched him smile. “Thanks kindly, neighbor. Not to be off-color, but it was chili con carne night at my house, so sooner would be better than later. I much appreciate it.”

  I watched him cut across our front lawn, walking back to his house with a slight limp, then I opened the door and grabbed the cookie tray.

  Chocolate chip. A dozen. And they looked perfect.

  “Ooooh! Can I have one!”

  Sam bounced up and down between us, and I handed the plate to Jack, letting Mom decide.

  Her response was to take a cookie, sniff it, then give it a small bite.

  Jack’s eyes rolled up. “Oh my god, that’s so good.”

  Throwing caution to the wind, I also snatched one, but my bite was less cautious. I crammed the whole thing in my mouth.

  It was amazing.

  Then I made a choking sound and dropped to the floor, flailing my arms around.

  “Help! The cookies are poison!” I spit out some crumbs and crossed my eyes.

  Sam thought it was hysterical.

  Jack, not so much. She gave Sam a cookie, then said, “Well, Dad’s dead. I’ll play battleships with you.”

  Sam pranced away, Jack behind her. As I laid on the floor, dejected, our fat basset hound Duffy wandered over and licked my face.

  “At least you care, boy.”

  He then switched from my face to the carpet.

  Duffy didn’t care about me. He cared about the cookie crumbs.

  “You’re supposed to be a watchdog. Why didn’t you come running and barking when someone knocked at the door?”

  Our watchdog farted.

  “Mr. Friskers is a better watchdog than you are,” I told him, referring to our elderly cat.

  Duffy didn’t seem appropriately humiliated by my public shaming.

  I rolled away from the stink, determined to put him on a diet and start retraining him.

  After we finishing unpacking and putting everything away.

  After I finished my giant list of home repairs and upgrades.

  After I set up the family room TV and entertainment center.

  I did a kip-up and got to my feet, not bad for an older guy, and padded into the bathroom, where Sam splashed around in a giant sea of bubbles and Jack sat on the floor next to her. They each held a plastic boat, and were ramming them into each other, making explosion noises.

  Sam stopped long enough to look at me. “Dad, I’m too short to see through the peephole in the door.”

  “You shouldn’t be answering the door, honey,” her mother said. “Let us do it.”

  “But what if you guys aren’t home?”

  A good observation. Jack and I exchanged a glance.

  “We can get one of those door video cameras,” I suggested. “The one where it alerts us on our phones.”

  Jack nodded. “I’ll go online and order one.”

  I checked under the sink vanity.

  Four rolls of toilet paper. I grabbed two.

  “Here you go, Ms. Generosity. We’re going to be wiping our asses with Cheetos bags by next week.”

  “Can’t you go?” Jack batted her eyelashes.

  “Nice try. You made the offer. You go play good Samaritan neighbor.”

  “I’m playing boats with Sam.”

  “I’ll play with her. Sam, do you want to play battleship with Mom or Dad?”

  “Dad! He drops depth bombs!”

  I gave Jack a smarmy look, and she got up and took the toilet paper rolls.

  “This will be good for you,” I said. “Help restore your faith in humanity.”

  “I’ll be back in three minutes. If I don’t return, come loaded for bear and save me.”

  “That’s because big, strong men always have to save the helpless women, right Sam?”

  “No!” she giggled. “Women aren’t helpless, Dad.”

  “Why is that?” I prodded.

  “Because everyone can be strong.”

  Our family motto.

  I squatted, and gave my wife a pat on the ass. “That’s right, baby girl. Mom has saved Dad a bunch of times. I’m sure she can handle Mr. Wintergarten just fine.”

  Jack pointed a finger at me, mock-warning. “I expect you to be in the kitchen, making dinner, when I get back.”

  “I’ve got an amazing dinner planned,” I promised.

  When she left, I tapped Sam’s nose. “What do you say to chicken nuggets, squirt?”

  “Chicken nuggets are the bomb.”

  “And here’s… the DEPTH BOMB!”

  I picked up the plastic boat, raised it high, and plunged it into the bottom of the bathtub, making a huge splash.

  Sam laughed hysterically.

  “You sure you’re not too old for battleships?” I said.

  “Dad, you can never be too old to have fun.”

  “Good point.”

  Maybe I was getting soft. But for once in my life, everything was perfect.

  JACK

  Everything sucks.

  The move had been awful. We still hadn’t finished unpacking, in part due to an unexpected trip to New Mexico to help some friends, which freaked me out for a whole bunch of reasons, emotional, mental, and spiritual.

  Our new house revealed a plethora of dirty little secrets that the inspection hadn’t uncovered, all of which needed to be fixed.

  While Phin and I were finally getting back to normal after several rough patches, our loveable bundle of joy, Sam, was putting a crimp on our re-blooming romance because the schools had closed and she was somehow able to function with only six hours of sleep. Which meant she got up early and stayed up late, leaving a very brief window for Mommy and Daddy Time, made even worse because by the end of each day, Phin and I were exhausted.

  I needed sex.

  I also needed the country, and the world, to be rid of COVID-19.

  Thanks to over twenty years of dealing with the worst of humanity as a Chicago Homicide Lieutenant, I was naturally suspicious of everyone.

  But since SARS-CoV-2, I was downright paranoid about everyone. Like in that Cold War sci-fi classic, Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Who’s infected? Who can be trusted? The CDC indicated that some people were asymptomatic, but could still spread COVID. And though many people said it was no more dangerous than the seasonal flu, the morbidity and mortality charts told a much scarier story.

  The fact that Phin could only get half of our shopping list didn’t help to ease my mind. And now we were giving 1/3 of our toilet paper stockpile to our creepy neighbor.

  As I marched over to Larry’s, TP rolls tucked under my arm, I looked over his property and found it to be disturbingly normal. Driveway recently sealed. Mailbox painted green to look like a tiny version of the house. White shutters and window boxes. Holly bushes on either side of a front porch swing.

  It was like Norman Rockwell designed it. The only thing missing was a puppy sharing an ice cream cone with a small blond boy while Santa looked on drinking a Coke.

  Just a little too perfect.

  I approached cautiously, irritated that regular, everyday normal life somehow made me suspicious. Why couldn’t I just stop being so paranoid?

  Oh, right, because dozens of people have tried to murder me, and now the world was being overrun by an invisible, killer virus. When I sensed something was wrong it was because something was usually wrong. I earned my paranoia fairly.

  And once again I seemed to be justified, because when I got closer to Larry’s front door I noticed it hadn’t been closed.

  The door hung open a few inches.

  While it was probably just the case of an elderly man forgetting to shut the door behind him, I dropped the toilet paper and drew my S&W from the paddle holster tucked into the back of my jeans, holding the gun at my side, barrel facing down, finger on the outside of the trigger guard. Then I climbed the two wooden steps onto his front porch.

  “Mr. Wintergarten?” Using my loud, authoritarian voice, projecting volume and strength and calm. “It’s Jack from next door. Are you there?”

  No one answered.

  But I thought I heard something.

  Laughter. Faraway, high-pitched laughter. Like the fake, forced giggle of a bad clown.

  I knocked on the door, three times, and it just so happened that my pounding opened it even wider, allowing me to see inside.

  Sneaky Cop Tricks 101.

  “Mr. Wintergarten, you left your front door open. It’s your neighbor.”

  I held my breath, listening.

  Silence.

  “Anyone there?”

  The house had an antiseptic odor to it. Almost like a hospital. And something sharper, beneath it. Garbage? Rot?

  “Mr. Wintergarten? Hello?”

  I heard it again, so soft it could have been my imagination.

  Hysterical giggling.

  Not the giggle of someone getting the joke.

  It was more like the giggle of someone who’d lost their mind.

  Could it have been some sort of house sound? A tea kettle? Pipes? A squeaky, old appliance? Maybe a parrot, or a pet monkey?

  Once again, it abruptly stopped.

  That had to be something animal. Or perhaps mechanical. It couldn’t be human.

  I noted my body’s heightened-awareness cues; dry mouth, moist palms, rapid heartbeat. It brought back too many bad memories, and I knew I wasn’t going to enter the house. Instead, I’d go home and call 911. Wellness checks weren’t my job. Not anymore.

  I took a step back and then—

  “Hey!”

  The male voice came from behind me, giving me a scare. If I’d been a rookie, I probably would have turned and aimed, which could have ended in all kinds of bad ways. Instead I kept my arm rock-steady, not raising my gun, and carefully peered over my shoulder.

  Wintergarten.

  Holding a shotgun.

  “Easy, Larry. I brought you toilet paper. Your door was open.”

  He squinted at me over his glasses, then lowered the shotgun. “Jacqueline? You gave me a fright. I heard noises on the side of my house, went to go check. I thought it was the Peeper.”

  I turned, sticking my revolver into my jeans holster, hiding it from my neighbor as he approached.

  “The Peeper?” I asked, keeping my eyes on his gun. Double barrel, twelve gauge, filigree on the silver side plates.

  He broke open the breech and hung the bent weapon on his forearm like a seasoned hunter.

  “We got ourselves a pervert in the neighborhood. Peeps in windows. Thought I saw him standing outside my bathroom.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Hard to tell. Wears one of those hoods.”

  “Like a hoodie sweatshirt?”

  “Could be. Keeps it tight over his face. Dark-skinned guy, know that much. Been running around this area for years. Did you see anyone run off?”

  “No.”

  Like all the other houses on the block, Wintergarten had a fenced-in backyard. But his front yard and both sides of his home were open. Anyone walking onto the property would get their pick of eight to ten windows to peek through.

  “He could be more than just a voyeur. There have been disappearances. Neighbors gone missing.”

  Our realtor neglected to mention that.

  “We keep our doors locked. Do you have a pet, Larry?”

  “A pet? No pets. Why?”

  “I thought I heard an animal.”

  He chuckled. “Probably my electric dryer. Needs a new belt. Squeaks like the dickens.”

  Yeah, that was probably what I heard. “I’ll leave the toilet paper here on your stoop.” I walked over to pick it up from where I’d dropped it, and he approached, and I noted his almost imperceptible limp.

  “Let me help.”

  I held my palm up. “Let’s do what the news says and practice social distancing. Six feet away, please.”

  He stopped and frowned. “We’ve had bad flu seasons before. You think this is going to be a bad one?”

  “I have no idea. But it seems to be worse than the seasonal flu, and I don’t want to get sick.” I added, “Or get anyone else sick.”

  “Seems like common sense and a smart approach. Of course, it all depends on if others exercise that same common sense. You’d be surprised how much harm one selfish person can cause.”

  That wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

  I set the rolls next to his door, then gave Larry a wide berth as I walked past.

  “Thanks kindly, neighbor. What do you have in your belt, there? Revolver?”

  I wavered.

  On one hand, I liked talking about guns, and was curious about his. Plus, I suppose it was a neighborly thing to do, and Colorado had a much more laissez-faire attitude about firearms than Chicago did.

  On the other hand, showing off guns on a suburban front lawn made me uncomfortable. Not just the open display of firearms. The idle chit-chat also unnerved me.